Jaerin's POV
I stared at my phone like it had personally betrayed me.
Again.
The message hovered on the screen, unfinished and unimpressive. I'd rewritten it four times. No—six. Each version worse than the last. Too casual, too stiff, too desperate, too chill. It was like my thumbs had stage fright.
"Hey. Want to grab coffee later?"
Send.
My stomach flipped.
Shit.
No emoji. No punctuation. Not even a pathetic little ":D" to soften the awkward. And worse—no context. No "Hey, sorry I ghosted you after almost kissing you and making eye contact like a lunatic for twenty seconds while your wolf practically purred." No "I've been spiraling in the dark, listening to breakup songs about a relationship that hasn't even started." No anything.
Just seven words. Stark. Dry. So far beneath her level it made me want to launch my phone into the sun.
A few minutes later: Read.
And then... nothing.
Yeah. Okay. Fair.
I deserved that.
---
By the time I found her outside the third-floor practice room, I'd nearly talked myself out of it three separate times. Once on the stairs. Once in the hallway. And once in the janitor's closet after pretending to check for snacks in the vending machine like a total creep.
She was leaning against the wall near the water fountain, hoodie sleeves shoved to her elbows, earbuds in, lips moving faintly to whatever she was listening to. Calm. Effortlessly herself. Like the universe hadn't shifted slightly on its axis the night we almost kissed.
She wasn't looking for me.
Not exactly.
But I could feel it—that quiet hum under my skin. The bond. Soft and steady, like a signal in a storm. She always felt like that to me now: the pull of something steady in the middle of my chaos.
"Hey," I said before I lost my nerve.
She looked up, slow and precise. One eyebrow lifted. Not cold. Not annoyed. Just… watching. Measuring.
She didn't take her earbuds out, so I reached forward and gently tugged one loose.
It popped free with a soft click, and the silence hit like a held breath.
Her eyes stayed on mine. Calm. Steady. But something sharp glittered beneath them. Not anger—just that razor-edged curiosity she always wore when she was deciding whether to bite.
"You got my message?" I asked, my voice way too hopeful for how stupid that question was.
She blinked. "Obviously."
Right. Cool. Nailed it.
"I, uh…" I rubbed the back of my neck, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Was wondering if maybe… you wanted to grab coffee. Just to talk. If you're free."
She tilted her head. One braid slid off her shoulder like a punctuation mark. Her expression didn't shift, but something about her posture eased.
"And this wouldn't happen to be a coffee apology?" she asked. "For ghosting me after nearly kissing me?"
I winced. Face on fire. "Yeah. That's… part of it."
She watched me for a beat too long. I could feel her wolf behind her eyes—quiet, alert. Deciding.
Then her mouth twitched. Just a little. "I'm free. But only if you promise not to panic and disappear again."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Deal."
---
The café was small, cozy, and smelled like cinnamon, roasted beans, and old novels.
Dwyn picked the booth by the window. She tossed her bag onto the seat and gave me a look that said sit down and don't try to be cool about it. I sat.
She ordered something complicated—honey and citrus and something frothy with oat milk. Of course. I stuck with black coffee. It matched my vibe: slightly bitter and underwhelming.
We didn't speak much while waiting.
But the quiet wasn't hostile. Just thick with things we hadn't said yet.
Once we had our drinks, she took a slow sip, then set her cup down deliberately. "So. How long did it take you to work up the nerve to text me?"
"Define 'too long,'" I muttered.
Her lips twitched again. A real smile was hiding somewhere under the surface, I could feel it. Her braids shimmered in the low light, catching light from the fixture above us. She looked like a story I hadn't been brave enough to read all the way through.
"I was embarrassed," I said after a minute.
Her expression softened. But not enough to let me off the hook. "Because of the almost kiss?"
I shook my head. "Because I wanted it. Really wanted it. And I thought you did too. But then I freaked out because… I wasn't supposed to."
She leaned back, hands curled around her mug. "Who told you that?"
I blinked. "What?"
"That you weren't supposed to want it. Or me."
That question hit harder than I expected. I looked down into my coffee. The foam was gone. Just ripples and reflection now.
"No one," I said, after a long moment. "I think… I told myself that."
Silence stretched again. A different kind. A quieter one.
She nudged my foot under the table. Light. Deliberate.
I looked up.
"I'm still here," she said. "If you're going to run every time it gets real, just tell me now so I can stop wasting good outfits."
I laughed. Really laughed. "I'm not running this time."
"Good," she said, sipping her drink. "Because I like this ridiculous citrus latte, and I'd hate for you to ruin it with emotional constipation."
I smiled. "Can't promise I'm totally baggage-free… but I did bring snacks."
---
We walked after.
Nowhere special. Side streets. Back alleys. A park we passed once during orientation but never stopped in. Conversation came in bursts. Jokes. Jabs. Real stuff, too.
She teased me about my playlist. "You still listen to that mopey sad-boy indie band?"
I made fun of her for crying during a documentary about flamingos. "They were literally just birds, Dwyn."
"They were trying their best," she said, mock-offended.
By the time we passed the taco cart near the river, her arm brushed mine—and I didn't flinch.
When a motorcycle revved too loud behind us and she jumped, I stepped closer without thinking. My shoulder angled between her and the noise, instinctive. Her eyes met mine. Not startled. Just… there.
"Thanks," she murmured.
And I knew she didn't just mean for that.
---
We ended up on the rooftop again.
It wasn't planned. We just… drifted there, like gravity remembered something we hadn't said out loud.
I handed her the leftover taiyaki I'd bought from a food stall near the station. Slightly burnt edges. Just the way she liked.
She took a bite without hesitation.
The skyline stretched in every direction—bright and fractured and endless.
I nudged her shoe with mine. "Hey."
She looked over. Brow raised.
"Just so we're clear," I said. "This is a date."
She blinked. "You sure?"
"Nope," I admitted. "But I want it to be. I want you to know that."
She smiled. Soft. Real. Like I'd said the right thing without even realizing it.
"Okay, then," she said. "It's a date."
We sat there. Not touching. But close enough.
The kind of close that felt like something waiting.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was real.
And this time—I wasn't going anywhere.